300 sets of finely chiseled abs

The weary hubby and I went to see The 300 on Saturday. It's a rare occurrence, since the weary hubby and I are usually far too cheap to splash out on an actual movie theatre showing of anything not involving hobbits. The ads looked intriguing, so we checked it out.

And, oh boy, was that a lot of man flesh. Remember Troy, where the filmmaker spent a lot of time lingering over Brad Pitt's oily be-toga-ed body? Multiply that by 300, with smaller togas. And remember in Alexander, where the filmmaker made a point of showing off some Rosario Dawson nipple? Multiple that by a harem, add in a weird oracle and even a queen.

Lots of nip. Lots of abs. Lots of graphic violence in the arty, graphic-novel sense of the term.

It was interesting, actually, to see a movie that sometimes felt like a fueled-up blend of Troy and Sin City, without all the ponderous plot of the former and with fewer bright yellow characters than the latter. Author/artist Frank Miller's visual influence was perfectly clear and livened things up considerably. That said, The 300 is not a film that puts a whole lot of emphasis on plot - or much stress on your brain. Its plot is a bit like Gladiator light. Which doesn't mean it isn't a whole lot of fun.

One of my favourite lame running jokes with weary hubby (I have a great weakness for lame running jokes, weary hubby is slightly less fond): Every time we see Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers I ask 'I wonder if there are any good fight scenes in it.' Given that half the movie is devoted to the Battle of Helm's Deep, I amuse myself every time. The 300 goes one better - it's all fight scene - epic, violent, gory, filled with death rattles and strangely subdued amounts of blood.

Weary hubby left wanting to see it again. I left with a new appreciation of Spartan abs.